Chapter 3

Stiles bit at his bottom lip the way he did when he was trying figure something out and he was. What the hell killed those campers? As usual, his Dad didn't give him very much information, but when Stiles got home later that evening he was pleasantly happy to find that his Dad left police files on the kitchen table.

"You really shouldn't bring your work home with you, Dad," Stiles sighed. He glanced around. Teetering forward he grazed over the papers with his eyes. It was about the attack.

He slid into a chair quickly and was scanning every little bit that he could. The police thought this was a wolf attack which made zero sense. The black and white, and color photos of the crime scene and bodies were grisly. Stiles's stomach twisted and yanked and he struggled to hold back vomit. These victims were in pieces. Wolves did this? Wolves haven't been in California in over fifty years. Maybe it was a mountain lion of bear. The one person who'd know would be the only vet in the area; the same person that his Dad was talking to early today. Deaton.

After practice on Wednesday, Stiles went to the clinic. He picked Wednesday for a specific reason. Scott wasn't working and had a big date with Allison. He was taking her bowling which was a terrible idea. He couldn't bowl at all. He had no skill. His ball always ended up in the gutter. On top of that it was a double date with Lydia and Jackson. Jackson was going to enjoy ripping Scott a new one. But at least Scott wouldn't be asking Stiles an awful lot of questions.

So, Stiles took advantage and went down to the clinic close to closing time. There wouldn't be any more patients to worry about and hopefully he'd get some answers. The lights in the front were off, but light glowed out the doorway of one of the exam rooms.

"Hello? Deaton?" Stiles called out, standing less than a centimeter to the swinging doors that led to the back. "It's me, Stiles."

Deaton shuffled from his office. His head tilted to the side ever so slightly.

"Stiles, what are you doing here? Scott isn't here." Deaton said. He rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head side to side, relieving stiffness.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here." Stiles dived in instantly. "I know my Dad talked to you about the attack on those campers. He said it was because of animals? He thinks it matches wolves, but that's not possible, is it?"

Stiles's eyes narrowed. Deaton didn't reply right away. He was searching for the right answer carefully. That was enough of an answer in and of itself. He did suspect it.

"I don't know about wolves." Deaton said and laughed softly. "There haven't-"

"Been wolves for over fifty years. Yeah, I know. But you think different. Don't you?"

"I think that it's more likely a mountain lion." Deaton replied easily.

Deaton does this thing when he lies. He smiles and it's too genuine, too kind to be real. He was doing it right now as he was telling Stiles this. He thought this was wolves. In fact, the lie within that thin lipped smile confirmed it. Not only that, but he knew what it was that really killed those people.

"No, you don't." Stiles said. "What was it? Really."

"Stiles, it was a mountain lion."

Stiles nodded and clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth unsatisfied. Deaton wasn't going to tell him a thing. It was stupid to hope that he would.

"I'll figure it out myself then." Stiles said, shaking his head. Deaton sighed, feeling Stiles's disappointment. He knew that the teenager wouldn't stop until he found what he was looking for.

He sighed and waited until the bell over the front rang—a signal of Stiles's exit, and then picked up the phone on the front desk. He pressed each number with a growing sense of dread. When the line picked up he spoke without expecting a reply.

"You need to know," he watched as the powder blue Jeep pulled out of the parking lot, "he's going to find out. There's no stopping it. Be prepared."

He put the phone back on the hook and made his way back to his office. Beacon Hills was changing quickly. He wasn't going to be able to keep at this secret like he hoped. He was going to have to make a return to the old ways. Others were counting on him and it wasn't in him to turn away family. This pleasant life he'd come to make for himself as a vet was going to dissipate quickly unfortunately.

"So how'd the date go?" Stiles asked, fresh on Thrusday. He and Scott were in the library for study hall. "You bombed, didn't you?"

He smirked, trying not to laugh. Scott had no ability for smooth moves. He was completely awkward, so Stiles took pleasure in it when he could. Entertainment in this town was slim.

At a table across the room, Stiles caught Boyd and Erica staring at him. Their gaze was both intense and hypnotizing. The two were mumbling to each other. Stiles looked away, creeped out, and hungry? His stomach gurgled a complaint. Yeah, hungry.

"Actually, it went really well. I won a game," Scott said.

"No," Stiles said in disbelief, shaking his wildly. "But you suck at bowling. Like seriously, you're the worst."

" I know! It's crazy." Scott chuckled, his shoulders shaking.

"Yeah," Stiles said. His eyes strayed back to Erica and Boyd, but they were gone and their chairs were neatly pushed in.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked. His eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"Uh, yeah. What about you?" Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, of course, but I'm not the one spacing out."

The bell rang for the last class.

"So do think Coach is going to kill us during practice today?" Scott asked. "Our first game is tomorrow."

"You guys, probably. Me? Nope. I'm the professional bench-rider. I'm lucky when he get even close to knowing my name."

Scott snorted. He always made jokes about that.

"You're getting off the bench this season and I'm going to make sure of it."

Stiles was walking backwards and as he spun around, his shoulder collided with what felt like a brick wall. Pain surged down half his body. He gasped and his face contorted all screwy. His hand flew up to his shoulder.

"Sorry."

Stiles rubbed his shoulder. Isaac glanced at the two, his shoulders hunched over and his hands stuffed in his pocket tensely and kept walking. Stiles shook his and shrugged. He didn't completely die from the nudge, but his shoulder was throbbing pretty badly.

Stiles stared after the senior. He never really talked to anyone. He kind of stopped sophomore year when his mom died and his brother was KIA overseas. Death took its toll on everyone. There were rumors around school too that his Dad wasn't exactly the nicest guy around. No one confirmed it. Jackson was his neighbor and never had a thing to say about him except that he was a gravedigger loser.

Thinking about Isaac reminded Stiles of the upcoming anniversary of losing his mother. He went every year. It was next month which wasn't extremely soon, but soon enough that he was going to be thinking about it constantly on top of his own personal investigation.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked.

"Uh," Stiles nodded. "Just thinking."

"About your mom?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied quietly. His head hung and looked at his worn down shoes.

Scott could always tell when Stiles was thinking about her. There was that drop in the usual loud personality.

Biology was boring as usual and Stiles found himself highlighting the entire page.

"Mr. Stilinski, It's a textbook, not a coloring book. Try taking a break." Mr. Harris said as he wandered past the table.

Stiles glared and popped the highlighter cap out of his mouth. It shot upwards and was caught effortlessly. Scott kept his head down, snickering. His knee bounced up and down radically. Stiles noted the tight grip he had on his pencil.

At the bell, Stiles stood with his bookbag on his shoulder.

"Not you Stilinski." Mr. Harris said.

"Wha?" Stiles squawked, throwing his hands up.

"Detention."

"But I didn't do anything!"

Mr. Harris pointed for him to sit. Two other poor souls walked in to join the boring activity of sitting and staring up at the clock as it ticked by ever so slowly. Brett and Cory. Stiles had noticed the two become fast friends. Before they could sit together, Mr. Harris put them at separate tables. Stiles suppressed a groan and let his head fall onto his arms on the lab table.

A fly landed on his arm and he waved it off.

"Have a question Mr. Stilinski?"

Mr. Harris was paging through a magazine and Stiles knew full-well that the question was more or less rhetorical. The bored look remained plastered on his face while stared at him complete and utter hatred.

"Yeah, can I leave? This is abuse. I didn't even do anything." Stiles complained.

Brett snorted behind him and nodded. Mr. Harris however, was not amused.

"You have twenty-four more minutes of sitting here. Try to make that time useful and not speak." Mr. Harris said without looking up.

Stiles grumbled to himself. The half hour ticked by extremely slowly and extremely quietly. This version of The Breakfast Club would be a straight-to-video flick that nobody would buy. That is unless they wanted it just for the deleted scenes of Stiles's thoughts about smacking Mr. Harris for this unjust imprisonment.

"You may go," Mr. Harris got up, packing his magazine into his leather brief case. He left the room first like the pompous ass he was and as always, in some sort of hurry to get away from the infectious disease this school was.

"What an ass," Brett sighed behind Stiles.

Stiles pointed over his shoulder at him in agreement, but didn't turn around. He needed to get to practice. The hallways were deserted. Stiles rounded the corner to his locker so that he could drop off his bookbag and paused mid-step. Erica Reyes leaned casually next to his locker. He walked up like it was no big deal, though inwardly there were several questions bouncing around in his head, all of which centered around: why is she at my locker?

Erica's eyes followed him as he stopped beside her and played with the lock dial and opened the tiny cubicle that held his stuff. A few papers fell out. He shuffled to keep the mess in and managed to shove his bag in it. After closing his locker he turned to her.

"Why have you been watching me? And, now you're here at my locker." He walked away a few steps and then spun back around, nearly running into the blonde. "Are you stalking me? I mean if you are it's a first for me and it doesn't bother me all that much."

Erica smirked and gave a small nod as if waiting for him to finish. His lips pursed together; a sign that he didn't know what else to say.

"I just want to tell you to be careful." She said.

"Careful? Careful, why?"

Erica walked away, but Stiles followed in pursuit. Coach was going to be pissed that he was missing practice. If he noticed. What does she mean careful? He got the nagging feeling in his gut that she was referring to his personal investigation. What did she know that he didn't?

Erica spun, stopping quickly and nearly causing him to run into her.

"Just be careful. It would be terrible if you got yourself hurt."

It was getting irritating hearing that, not that he heard it very often. It was the insinuation everybody was giving him. Even Scott gave off that vibe when he asked him about his newfound physical abilities. Why couldn't he get straight answers?

"If I'm getting close to whatever killed those campers, whatever people are trying to keep from me then I'm going to figure it out." Stiles said.

"Stiles, I'm serious." Her voice was gentle which was strange because nothing about her fierce appearance was gentle.

"And, why should I trust you? I barely even know you. Huh?"

"Because I'm trying to-" she cut herself off and waved him off with both hands. "Forget it."

"Erica."

Both teens turned to see Boyd making his way down the hall toward them. Brett was with him. Coach was definitely going to notice

"He's not as dumb as he looks. Just tell him," Brett said. Boyd sighed with a look of resignation. "Better yet, just show him. He won't quit."

Stiles's eyebrows scrunched and he looked to each of them with an abundance of confusion.

Erica growled under her breath and rolled her eyes. Stiles's eyes narrowed as his eyes switched between all of them. They surrounded him from all sides. His heart rattled in his chest. The wall that each of them created around him seemed to be closing in. His chest constricted and his breaths became short. The outside of his vision pulsed.

"Show me what?" He barely made the words out. Brett smirked, making him feel even more uneasy.

"You did say he was the one-open minded or whatever. He's certainly too smart for his own good. He's going to figure it out with or without us. You know it's better if he's with us and us him," Brett said.

Erica's head lolled forward and she pinched the bridge of her nose like an exhausted parent with the toughest decision.

"You're right," she said quietly.

Stiles dipped his head a little, trying to get a peek at her face. Her hair fell to each side like beautiful silk curtains. He gave a quick fading smile.

"Right?" he said.

Erica raised her head and the moment she did the air in Stiles's lungs whooshed out like a cold wind.

"Oh my god," he breathed.

Erica stared at him with golden eyes. All three of them did. They were vibrant like a light came on inside of them.

"We didn't want to involve you if we didn't have to," Erica said.

Stiles watched as each of their eyes dimmed back to their natural eye colors, and they all stood timidly in front him like five-year-olds not wanting to fess up to something bad they'd done. It was weird. He should be the one cowering, yet they were afraid of him. What their eyes did, it wasn't natural. What the hell?

"So uh, your eyes are seriously weird. What's that mean?" Stiles asked.

"The animal attacks weren't normal, were they?" Boyd piped up. "There was something off? They were wolves?"

"Wolves haven't-"

"We know the spiel." Brett interrupted. He looked away and at the lockers as if they held more appeal.

Erica shot him a glare. He just shrugged it off.

"We're…" Erica struggled. She took in a deep breath. "We're werewolves."

Stiles's eyebrows rose, but he didn't speak. He was too stunned. He bit his lower lip and slid out of the circle.

"The medical condition you guys share is interesting and all, but I think that's a stretch since werewolves," he laughed the word out, "aren't real. Now, I have lacrosse practice to get to and so do you." He pointed at Brett.

He walked off. Boyd and Brett turned to Erica.

"Way to go. He thinks we're psychotic," Brett sneered.

"He just needs convincing. I'll handle it," Erica said.

"You better," Boyd said darkly. "Or else he'll end up like our alpha."

Erica hated it when they brought Derek up. He sacrificed himself for them, so that they could live, survive. The attacks here couldn't have been coincidence which meant that he could be right. They were putting him in serious danger, and they needed him on their side. It shouldn't take much convincing though, Erica thought.

Stiles came home to an empty house. Dad was still at the station, but the APB was still on. There was gurgled speech between the static. He froze as he pulled a can of Coke from the fridge and then spun around and hurdled himself closer to the APB.

"Ambulance has been called. We're going to need back-up down here at the high school."

High school? Suddenly he thought about Erica and the others.

"Homicide. Please send back-up."

His dad replied.

"Copy that. On my way."

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip. Another animal attack? Another murder. His

"Stiles, if you're listening, go do your homework. Now."

Stiles glared at the ancient relic machine and shook his head. Figures. He always knew when he was listening. Stiles grabbed his soda and then went upstairs.

Even as he did his homework he couldn't stop thinking about what Erica had told him. The look on her face when she told him, the sincerity on her face-she really believed she was a werewolf. They all did. He should've too. This kind of theory was right up his alley. Why didn't he?

He knew why. It was so illogical that it strangely made sense. Stiles found himself researching werewolves and all kinds of folktales as well as terrible fanfiction came up in the search. He shivered. The stories really took bestiality to a new level. He did find a few sites that seemed pretty serious about sightings around the world of the beast as well as mutilations of cows and sheep and even unsolved murders, and there was also a long history of them and their evolution over time.

"A little research?" Stiles's whole body tremored from the sudden scare. The entire bedroom was dark except for his computer screen. He didn't realize that the sun had gone down already. "That doesn't look like homework."

His dad stood over him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Geez!" Stiles exclaimed, breathing heavily. The Sheriff smirked.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh!" Stiles's hands motioned as he tried to find the perfect excuse. "There's this project in World History. We're researching myths and legends around the world."

"You're taking World History?"

"Uh, well no, but I could. This is a great head start." Stiles shrugged and nodded. It sounded like a good excuse.

"Uh-huh." However, the quickly thought up story didn't convince him. The Sheriff shook his head and walked out of the room. Before leaving though, he paused and turned. "Go to bed at a reasonable hour this time."

Stiles gave a serious salute with his eyes still glued to his computer screen.

"I'm serious."

"Mhm. Yup, reasonable. Got it." Stiles droned out, already zoned back into technology land.

The Sheriff sighed. He couldn't complain too much. Stiles could be like every other teenage boy and watching porn at this late hour. It was one less thing to worry about.

Stiles rubbed his sleep deprived eyes and flipped on his desk lamp, craning it so that it didn't completely blind him.

"Find anything interesting?"

Stiles jumped yet again and gripped the edges of his desk automatically as if it would stop his heart from jumping out of his chest and then out the window. Erica grinned and in the lighting it look grim.

"Do you just sneak through people's bedroom windows?"

"Sometimes." She admitted. "You're special."

"Ha." He said unamused. "Are you going to push more of that werewolf crap on me because I don't know. I mean the evidence does make sense, but I just can't," he made a rolling motion with his hands, "wrap my head around it."

"I know. It's why I dropped by."

"Oh, here I thought it was because you had a thing for me," he smirked.

Erica's eyes flattened. The sarcasm was unneeded but in a way she understood. Werewolves were a lot to take in. The concept was make-believe. When she'd been bitten, she didn't believe it at all.

"Look, when-when I was bitten," she took a breath. "I didn't believe either. But my seizures stopped and my overabundance of acne vanished. Boys started looking at me. Everything changed." Her face relaxed in the reminiscence.

"You really believe you're lycanthropic." Stiles's eyebrows pressed together. "Show me."

"What?" Erica looked up at him. He still sat relaxed in chair, resigned.

In the lamp light, he saw her face shift naturally. Her lips jutted because of teeth that had become suddenly sharp and elongated like a canines. Her ears poked out of her blonde hair with pointed tips at the cartilage and the muscle around her eyes and cheeks shifted and intensified. Her eyes glowed again and Stiles let out a hollow breath.

"Holy shit. You were serious. I wanted to believe but it just didn't…" He trailed off.

He slowly stood up and walked towards her. His head tilted to get a different angle. She really did take on the wolf-like form. She was a werewolf.

"Okay. So yeah. You're right and uh, wow." He stuttered out. Erica rolled her eyes. he wasn't afraid, but just surprised. It was a pleasant surprise that registered on his face. "Why tell me this again?"

"You're an idiot and putting yourself in danger."

"Hey, come on! I'm not that stupid. Apparently I was close to figuring this all out or else you wouldn't have come out with it." he said defensively.

Erica said nothing in response, and he knew he was right. She relaxed and her facial features retracted back to normal. It all looked effortless the way she did it.

"That is something," Stiles said in wonder.

"You can't tell anyone. Not even your best friend, Scott."

Stiles nodded, but the words went in one ear and out the other like most things did.

"So why tell me?" he asked.

"I told you-"

"For my own protection, but I don't think that's the only reason."

"Go to sleep." Erica firmly ended the conversation and moved to the open window. She swung one leg out and looked back at him. "Lock your window."

"Hey," he said right before she left. She turned, her hair falling from her shoulders. "You know who killed those people don't you?"

"Goodnight Stiles." And she was gone.